


Not So Much Lost as Changed Hands

by Rivalshipping_Archive (rivalshipping)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha!Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega!John, Omegaverse, but Sherlock makes it all better, im always missing tags whats up with that, poor John he's a bit sad, rated for a bit of bad language and smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivalshipping/pseuds/Rivalshipping_Archive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John doesn't like the loss of control his heat brings him. Sherlock attempts to relieve him of his displeasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not So Much Lost as Changed Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lockedin221b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockedin221b/gifts).



> just a little thing to help with my writer's block
> 
> and who doesn't love omegaverse?
> 
> for Z because of her great support for my other omegaverse story <3 and everyone who's reading it as well. yay 100+ kudos!
> 
> ps i havent written smut in years so im a bit rusty

The twentieth of April. John stared at the small block on his desk calendar for a few seconds, and then looked over to the twenty-first, where a small blue dot made in pen in the upper right of the box seemed to stare menacingly back at him. He mentally resigned himself to the inevitable. His heat would be starting soon, and he had preparations to make—stocking the flat with food, setting up a shallow nest of blankets and pillows in his and Sherlock’s bed, taking a few days leave from work, paying every bill to make sure nothing essential like heat or water cut off, and making sure his birth control was up to date and properly filled.

He sighed and closed his eyes. He wasn’t _not_ looking forward to his sex-marathon with the ethereally beautiful and unbelievably attentive detective he was proud to call his own. But a small part of him took exception to his dynamic that put him so high in social status and yet made him feel less than a human.

John Watson wasn’t a man much in control of his life. It must have been a byproduct of his Omega nature, he often mused, that he didn’t question Sherlock’s ordering around and general bossiness. He barely went into his surgery, instead being dragged around by a mad genius or his dictator of a brother, and when he had a bit of time for himself it was usually interrupted by his estrus.

He was incredibly grateful to have an Alpha to go to during those times, and an Alpha he could trust at that. Heat cycles were painful for an Omega with no mate—unless one had the money for terribly expensive heat suppressants—and John didn’t look upon memories of writhing and panting alone and covered in sweat with any fondness. Sex toys and the few and far between Beta one night stands could only fill the void so much.

The worst downside to those three days every two months was his loss of power over his own body. Even as he was being ordered to and fro in his regular life, he could (and often did) refuse to comply, and even Sherlock couldn’t match his stubbornness when he was adamant about doing (or not doing) something. When he went into heat, however, his mind didn’t play even a small part in the process. He was reduced to a pile of pliant need and pheromones, aching for a warm body on top of his to take the pain away and replace it with mind-numbing pleasure.

Sherlock, of course, took full advantage of his mindlessness (somehow, the genius maintained a good twenty percent mental function throughout, and twenty percent of _his_ brain was a large amount indeed) and although John invariably ended up completely satisfied, he felt more than a bit sick after the proceedings.

Sighing again, John stood from his desk and pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking for messages. There was only one, from Sherlock, which wasn’t a surprise. It was probably something about a case or the fact that there was never any milk in the flat. He opened it anyway, unable to deny his curiosity.

_I love you._

John stared at the message for a good ten seconds, and then his protective nature kicked in, his right hand typing out a reply as his left grabbed his jacket and his keys.

_whats wrong?_

Sherlock’s answer came almost instantaneously, even though he had sent his first text hours before.

_I’m sorry, John. I didn’t observe._

The doctor’s slight frown deepened at Sherlock’s words. It wasn’t like Sherlock to apologise, especially without giving a reason, and a damned good reason at that.

_didnt observe what?_

There was no reply after his. John willed his cab to get to Baker Street faster, holding his phone so tightly he was surprised he didn’t break it. His intermittent tremor had begun again, and it was all he could do to press his hand against his knee in an attempt to stop it. Sherlock didn't often get himself into danger alone in the flat, but when he did, it usually required a few stitches or new floorboards.

When the taxi pulled up to 221, John passed a few notes to the cabbie and left in a rush, unlocking the door as quickly as he could and taking the stairs two at a time. “Sherlock?” he called frantically, pushing their front door open and looking around the sitting room.

The detective was sitting in his usual chair, dressed immaculately, one leg crossed over the other in a gesture that managed to seem both gracefully unintentional and sinfully seductive. John couldn’t help the spike of arousal that shot through him even as he was irritated by the timing.

Sherlock’s pale blue-green eyes flickered to his and his breath hitched. “Sherlock?” he repeated, much softer.

“I’ve done some research today,” Sherlock began in a low voice, “On Omegas and their estrus.” John nodded at him, unsure what he was driving at. “There are a lot of articles on what to look for in an…” he paused, pressing his fingers together under his lower lip. “An Omega who resents his or her heat cycle.”

“I don’t—“ John attempted to interject, but Sherlock’s eyes left his and he fell silent.

“You’ve been looking at heat suppressants.” It wasn’t an accusation and there was no bite behind Sherlock's words. It was merely a statement of fact. His tone was as even as usual but his eyes were brighter than normal. “I would be happy to pay for them. Whatever you need to stop your cycle, I’ll do it for you. I should have realised… as your Alpha, it’s my job to be observant.” He laughed hollowly. “It’s _always_ my job to be observant.”

John came closer to him, standing a few feet from his chair and holding his shaking left hand in his right behind his back. “Sherlock, I don’t resent my heats,” he said gently, still unsure if this was one of Sherlock’s black moods or if there was real anxiety to be had. “I love experiencing them with you.”

Sherlock exhaled sharply, tilting his head down. “You… you are physically sick after your cycle restarts. You clean everything fastidiously, scrubbing my scent from our— _your_ sheets, from yourself. You check your birth control like it’s going to leave if you’re not constantly watching it.”

John bit his lip to keep from laughing, crossing the distance between them and taking Sherlock’s hands in his. Surprisingly, Sherlock didn’t resist, but he also didn’t meet John’s eyes. “Sherlock, it’s not the heat that I… dislike. Maybe if it were anyone but you I had to share it with, I would hate it, but you always put so much thought into every action that I can’t do anything but be happy.” He frowned a bit, then continued, "And I love having _our_ bed smell like you. I dislike sleeping in dried fluids for the rest of the week."

“Then why would you want to stop it?” Sherlock asked in genuine confusion, peering out from under dark curls and thick eyelashes to study John’s small smile. “I always try to provide the attention you need.”

John thought hard about how to phrase it. “I dislike… the lack of control.”

Sherlock leaned forward in his chair, his eyes widening and becoming even more bright. “Have I taken a liberty—“

“No, love, it’s not _you_. It’s me.” He almost smirked at the cliché breakup line, until he saw the stricken expression that Sherlock couldn't quite hide that told him the Alpha knew that line as well. “When an Omega goes into heat, they lose control of their thoughts and actions. I’m all there,” he assured quickly, holding Sherlock’s hands tighter in his, “But I’m driven more by my desire for you than any conscious thought.”

Sherlock took a minute to process what John had said, uncrossing his legs and pulling John to stand between them, then wrapping his arms around John’s waist and resting the side of his head on his stomach. John smiled and stroked Sherlock’s wild curls, willing to wait and let him think.

It was true—John had been looking at heat suppressants, comparing effectiveness with cost and the like, but he wasn’t considering buying any of them, at least not without Sherlock’s input. Temporary loss of control was a perfectly viable exchange for being so close to Sherlock without interruption for such a long period of time. It was both exciting and humbling to have that vast intelligence focused on him alone.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said eventually, his breath dampening a small spot on John’s thin striped jumper. “Once again, I’ve failed to observe correctly.”

“You haven’t failed at anything, darling, trust me. I appreciate your concern.” He pulled back a bit, taking Sherlock’s face in both hands and stroking across his pronounced cheekbones. Sherlock caught the hand that was shaking and kissed his palm. “You have to talk to me about things like this, Sherlock. It won’t do us any good to have this… tension.” He pulled back a bit more, but Sherlock held fast. “I have to go set up, love,” he murmured, tucking a stray curl behind Sherlock’s ear.

The detective shook his head slightly, slipping his fingers under John’s jumper and stroking the small of his back. “I’ve done it already. The bed, the food, the payments. I wanted…” he swallowed uncomfortably, “To make this good for you, for once. To do what Alphas are supposed to do.”

“It’s always good for me.” John kneeled between Sherlock’s legs, leaning up to kiss him. “It’s always _amazing_ for me.” Sherlock didn’t respond, so John kissed him again, nipping at his lower lip and playfully tracing his tongue across it.

Sherlock kissed him back, tilting his head a bit to slide his tongue into John’s mouth, and then pulled away, resting his hand at the back of John’s neck. “You’ll have control. I promise,” he said, running his thumb behind John’s ear. “You need only to tell me what to do and I will comply.”

“Whatever you’d like,” John agreed, but he was internally relieved to have his partner so understanding. His feelings must have shown on his face, because Sherlock chanced a real smile back at him.  
\---  
The morning of the twenty-first, John awoke hot and bothered in an empty bed. Or, it seemed empty, at least upon first glance. He was in their usual overly-hot nest of blankets, covered with a sheet, lying on his back, and had a very eager Alpha between his legs. At first, he assumed he was dreaming, but the hot, wet tongue laving at the head of his cock and the subtle vibrations from Sherlock's moans traveling up his shaft pulled him into reality.

“Sherlock,” he moaned through his dry throat, arching his back to press his pelvis closer to the detective’s ministrations. “Oh, God, I—“ Orgasm suddenly washed over him in waves of pleasure, relaxing every muscle in his body until he could barely keep his eyes open, settling just above complete unconsciousness.

Sherlock emerged from under the sheet, his hair tousled and a shit-eating grin on his glistening lips. “Perfect,” he purred, kissing a wet line up John’s chest and neck to press a good morning kiss to his mouth. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

John murmured something unintelligible in reply, stroking Sherlock’s damp curls away from his forehead and kissing his temple. His body, still in the process of shedding influence from his mind in preparation for full heat, knew that its Alpha wasn’t done with it and continued to tense with aftershocks, canting John’s hips against Sherlock’s bare thigh for more friction.

“Breakfast first, my dear John,” Sherlock breathed, and then he was gone from the room (flaunting his twenty percent, the wanker) to make something for them.

John was starving, yes, but his body’s main concern was getting off. He easily picked out which pillow Sherlock had been sleeping on from his potent scent and held it to his face, wrapping a hand around his half-hard cock and stroking it slowly. “Shit,” John groaned, gripping his cock tighter and taking deeper breaths of Sherlock’s pillow. Obviously, after Sherlock’s early morning blow job, his body wouldn’t accept minutes old scent or his own hand anymore. “Sherlock!” he said loudly, sitting up and wincing at the wetness between his thighs and slicking the sheets.

“Hold on, love,” Sherlock teased in a sing-song voice. John stood on shaky legs, wrapping the sheet around his waist, and stumbled out of the bedroom to the kitchen, leaning against the wall.

“Fuck me,” John said without preamble, watching Sherlock move back and forth across the kitchen.

Sherlock looked ready to send John back to the bedroom, but he remembered his promise from the night before and held his tongue, setting the two empty teacups he was holding back down onto the counter. “Here?”

“Come back to bed. Food can wait.” He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s hips, pulling him close and standing on the balls of his feet to press a kiss against his jaw. “Bed.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but allowed himself to be pulled back into the dark room and pushed into the blanket pile. “You smell amazing, John,” he murmured, pressing his nose against the Omega’s shoulder, and thrust his hips upward. John was delighted that Sherlock was as aroused as he was.

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” he replied with a cheeky smile, letting the sheet fall from around him and opening his legs wantonly. “All I want is for you to fuck me.”

“I don’t need any incentive for that,” Sherlock said absently while slipping a finger into John’s dripping hole and tilting it upward. John shuddered and moaned, pressing down onto him and rocking against his hand until he added a second and third finger.

John closed his eyes and bit his lip, seeming to fight with his body’s natural reaction to pull as much pleasure as it could from Sherlock. The detective was paying better attention, however, and stilled his exploring hand. “Are you alright? Do you want me to slow down?”

After waiting a few moments until he was calm enough to speak again, John shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, though.” He looked down at Sherlock again, noticing the way one corner of his mouth was turned up in an almost-smile, and smiled back. “Just a bit overwhelmed again.”

“Not going to be sick?”

“No, not going to be sick.”

Sherlock eyed him carefully for a moment, and then removed his fingers from John’s arsehole, his half-smile fading at the way John simultaneously moaned from the loss and tensed up because of his body’s reaction. “John—“

“Sherlock, I’m fine. Really.” John tightened his legs around Sherlock’s waist, leaning forward and pressing an open mouth kiss to the Alpha’s throat. “Just fuck me. _I_ want you to fuck me.”

Staring up at John, Sherlock lined the head of his cock up with John’s dripping hole and slid in with relative ease, pausing with his hands on John’s hips at the sheer heat around his dick. “O-okay?” Sherlock stammered, his pupils blown wide, swallowing up the pale blue of his eyes.

John groaned, grinding his hips and bracing his hands on Sherlock’s chest. “Let me,” he mumbled, and Sherlock immediately slackened his grip, letting John lower himself at his own pace. The doctor’s whimpers and moans grew louder as he began to shift up and down, letting a few inches of Sherlock’s cock slide out of him and then back in. What would have been pain on his own was swift turning into pleasure, fogging his brain until all he could do was fuck himself on Sherlock’s prick.

“ _John_ ,” Sherlock gasped after a few minutes of John’s hard thrusts. “I’m… God, I’m going to—“

John felt Sherlock’s knot beginning to inflate inside him and he growled behind his teeth, moving faster and pressing his own cock between their stomachs for more friction. “Come, Sherlock,” he demanded.

Sherlock closed his eyes and his back arched as he came, spilling into John’s arse and holding him tightly around the waist as he found release as well. They both took a minute to catch their breath, staying tightly together (John wouldn’t have let go even if he could have left Sherlock in that moment).

“Thank you,” he said eventually, his voice muffled by Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Was it good?” Sherlock asked, stroking up and down John’s spine, and pulled the sheet over them.

John laughed softly. “It was _great_ , Sherlock. I actually… felt as if I hadn’t lost all control for once.”

The detective hummed back at him. “I don’t think your control was ever lost as much as it… changed hands.” He pressed a kiss to John’s temple. “But I’m happy to do as you ask.”

“I’ll keep you to your word,” John teased, feeling truly relaxed after estrus-coupling for the first time in a while.  
\---  
A few weeks later, Sherlock spent his post-case high lying across the couch as usual; John let him rest his head in his lap and stroked through his curls while scrolling through new cases on their website. “Pass me my phone?” John asked, and immediately Sherlock reached down to the floor and picked it up, placing it in John’s hand. The doctor smirked at him, patting his head in praise. “I could get used to this,” he murmured almost absently.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Don’t press your luck.” But he leaned into the petting anyway.


End file.
